numbers & letters.

I know I’ve talked about it a little before, but in case you missed it, I’m a little obsessed with the Enneagram. Really, I just love personality tests, but this one is my favorite. Every day I get an “Enneathought” which generally makes a thought-provoking statement about your type. (I’m a 5, in case you’re wondering) I love these thoughts. Most of the time. Sometimes they’re a little too right, if you will, so I don’t love them as much, but they’re always pretty spot on.

Well, the other day I got this one:

Each type tends to “train” others to see them in certain ways. How have you boxed yourself in by training others to see you as an intelligent, perceptive person? What can you do today to reveal a new dimension of yourself to others?

Uhhh, whoa. Have you ever thought about that? I don’t know that I have, not with intentionality (<not a real word) anyways, not with the desire to do anything about it. But it’s true. When I think about what people say to me, what people I barely know say about me, it’s clear I somehow in some way train them to think of me in certain ways.

Honestly I’m not even sure how I do it. And for that reason I don’t know how to even begin showing another dimension of myself to people. Do I have another dimension? In-ter-est-ing. I want to talk more about this, to dig deeper into it, but not here, not with cyber air.

What about you, you may not be a 5, you may not train people to think you’re an intelligent or perceptive person, but what have you trained people to see you as? And more importantly, are you content with it?

(Also, being the obsessive personality geek that I am, I found this funny tumblr “hipster intj” [btw I’m an intj] where this girl takes phrases or things from an intj profile and overlays a ‘hipstery/emo-ish’ photo with them. I think it’s awesome, but maybe that’s an intj thing? ANYways. the images below made me giggle a little [although the first one is generally very true…i can’t get past that background]) 

P.  S.   if you know your Enneagram number or Meyers-Briggs classification PLEASE share. I LOVE knowing my friends’.

the roaring twenties.

Sometimes I get really confused by those of us fortunate enough to be in our 20s. All the time I feel like I find myself encountering situations where someone I feel like I know pretty well does something that doesn’t at all seem consistent with who they are or what they’re about. And I get it, we’re trying to find out where we belong and what we’re good at, and if others are like me, we’re afraid of settling into wherever we happen to be right now just in case it’s wrong. …Ok, so maybe now I’m projecting onto the rest of my people, but I feel like I can’t possibly be the only one who feels that.

What if what we’re passionate about isn’t worthwhile? And what if our goals just aren’t attainable? What if the quirks of our personalities that we think are endearing are actually offensive?

So the doubt begins to drive decisions. It makes self proclaimed homebodies decide that they want to leave the house at 9:00 to go hang out with friends at a loud get together. People who have lived and learned about themselves start putting themselves back in situations that even the 8th grade version of themselves knows will not end well. We’re so afraid of being wrong.

And worse, being wrong without getting the chance to make it right. Because now suddenly, the stakes are higher, and everyone’s current favorite thing to do is dissect millennials and their choices and faults and impossibilities. The margin for error seems slim.

So how do we cope?  By experimenting? By selling out?

I’d like to believe that those two things aren’t synonymous. I want to push myself; I want to grow; I don’t want routine for routine’s sake. But I want to be confident in who I am. I don’t want to constantly doubt all the things I’ve come to know. I don’t think true wisdom is mutable; the applications of it, sure, but not wisdom itself, and I don’t want to act as if it is.

So take that, twenties! (I don’t know how to end this post) But this seems fitting.

reasons why being bad at tag Might equal being bad at dating

As previously stated, on a playground is where I spend most of days (ok, ok it’s actually inside a school building, but I wanted to get the Fresh Prince stuck in your heads), and I’m finding more and more that there are lots of life applications to be made there. This week it dawned on me that the game “tag” (specifically freeze tag) and dating are an awful lot alike. This led to some introspective sarcasm, and thus this post was born.

When you embark on a game of tag, someone has to be declared “it”, and as a participant you have to find the perfect mixture of willing to be it, but somehow managing to not actually be it. I am not good at finding this balance. Every time, I’m either adamantly NOT it (which either means, you will be it [because people are rude] or they’ll decide your obstinacy prevents you from being a viable tagging target [because people are rude & you wouldn’t chase them if they tagged you]) OR I’m all “ok, ok I’ll be it” (and then…you have to be it.). I’ll spell out the dating implications here briefly, it means either you’re

or you’re

except not all sweet like this…since he’s actually Prince charming.

 

But let’s say you master the first hurdle and aren’t it, but are instead running from the tagger. Eventually, they’ll tag you, and you’ll wait to be untagged, and then it gets interesting. In my observation, it’s an unspoken rule that once you’re unfrozen, you have to jog backwards in slow motion loudly exclaiming “oh, I am free again, I sure hope I don’t get caught agaaiiinnnn”. This is problematic for me because I have a hard time going backwards. Looking backwards, sure, but intentionally going backwards? Nope, I like to get all Walt Disney Meet the Robinsons on life  and shout “KEEP MOVING FORWARD” at everyone [side note: this will not make you a crowd favorite at hockey games or in an airport. Trust me.] Either you tag me or you don’t. Call me or don’t. I’m not even trying to be about enticing someone…ain’t NObody got time fo dat.

(parenthetical aside)

 

And if I’m playing a game where the goal is to outsmart you and escape, I WILL OUTSMART YOU AND ESCAPE. And I won’t even begin to realize the error of my cunning intricacies until several years post college my leg starts cramping from the precarious position I’ve wedged myself into underneath the swirly slide’s steps.

I’ll be honest, in my playground days, I was the tag player who quit after being tagged more than once, because yeah right, like I’m going to stand here and wait for someone to untag me? Watch this you bunch of dopes, I’M NOT ACTUALLY FROZEN. (apply that to dating as you will)

Besides, whenever I play tag, I generally look like this

and metaphorically, it’s much the same for dating.

 

*this was the hardest post to write because I abhore the word “it”. Guess ‘it’s’ not such a pointless word after all.

Weird Week, Day One.

So, this week I have the most diverse bunch of people in one group, ever. It’s so fun. Also, a bit weird. There’s no way I could share everything without showing you complete footage of the entire day, but I would like to give you a little something something to help create a scene for your mind. [sidenote: I will be incorporating my thoughts into the dialogue/descriptions as I report, and I will do so in the same manner as I presented this information]

Let’s begin with dinner. Intentional time. So I see some students of mine and their table is full, but they offer to switch tables to sit with me. Looking back I see that this probably should’ve been clue number one. Instead I’m thinking, “yes, my students like me!” So we sit, and 3 minutes into the conversation Teddy decides he’s going to be intentional with me. It went like this:

:Conversation about the weather:

Teddy: I want to go to Disney World

Jenna: Disney World is fun.

Teddy: Maybe our youth group could go. Maybe you could go with us.

Jenna: ohhh,mnnn,uh

Teddy: I’d ask you for your number, but you probably wouldn’t give it to me

Jenna: [Did I miss something? Was that logical? I thought we were talking about vacationing…Oh no, I am so tired that I’m missing complete chunks of conversation now?] Yeah, I’m not giving you my number.

Teddy: Hmnn.

…[1.2 minutes]….

Teddy: Do you have any brothers or sisters?

Jenna: Yes, a sister, two brothers.

Teddy: How old’s your sister?

Jenna:16

Teddy: Is she hot?

Jenna: I’m sorry, what?

Teddy: Does she look good. Like her face. Is it good?

Jenna: [What does that even mean?! Why are you crazy? Why am I at this table? Has anyone seen Kellen’s keys?!!!] Um, you are ridiculous, and that is a question I will not answer.

-Annnndddddd End Dinner Scene.

Then, after worship I decide to go to Sonic for some cheese tater tots. They bring me chili cheese tater tots though, so I politely decline and ask for just cheese stating “sorry, but I don’t eat meat or I would just eat those” to which Sonic Friend replies emphatically, “Really? That’s actually really cool” (Apparently being a vegetarian is the thing to do now.) So he goes to get the ones with just cheese which takes at least 7 minutes, but no fear because just when I think he’s forgotten about me he returns with cheese tater tots, 4 coupons for free shakes and this: “Do people tell you you’re pretty all the time?” To which I naturally reply, “uhmm, what? Oh, uh, no, but thanks, that’s really sweet” [go go gadget super speed window roll-up]

And of course the day wouldn’t be complete unless something else weird happened, so hello there county fair nightlife. There I was just hanging out by the horseshoes (dumb) and sweet baby Nick comes by and says, “hey, do you want this slushy” and I really don’t so I tell him I’m good, but then he’s all “yeah, I bought it for this girl, but when I took it to her, she said she didn’t want it and walked away.” OH NO! rude girls are not okay. So I felt bad for baby Nick and said, “I won’t reject you!! Thank you” and took the slushy. And in his gratefulness he says, “thank you. I appreciate that…are you a leader? [yes] I think I saw you in the lunchroom earlier” And cue awkward conversation/shifty eyes.

Also today, my kids had a debate about how old I am and whether or not I’m married. The verdict? “25, and I knew you weren’t married. You didn’t have a boyfriend either do you?” No, I didn’t. Furthermore, I don’t. I’m not sure whether to be complimented or not. They think I’m 25 because I “act so old and grown up” but I’m not sure if they think “sheesh, why hasn’t anyone snatched her up” or “yep, I knew it; she’s practically a crazy cat lady already,” and that my friends makes all the difference in whether or not this day was an 8 or 9 on the weirdodometer.

saturdays aren’t ever secret anymore.

I only feel comfortable sharing this secret because I know that none of the sweet people who actually read my blog will use it against me, at least I hope not. I mean, if you did, there’s something seriously wrong with you… But this week’s secret is, I am afraid of knives. Like for real, legitimately scared of them. I think it probably links back to a traumatic experience I once had. Picture it. Freshman year. 2006. There I was, nerdy, overachieving, 17 year old Jenna in dire need of opening a $90 graphing calculator (that I would never end up using in class) for my 9:25 precalculus class. I understand that it’s necessary to package children’s toys securely so that no parts are missing, and no one chokes without parental consent, but calculators? Come On! So here I am, fighting intensely with plastic strong enough to anger the Hulk (if he were to battle plastic…you get the point), sweat drops breaking out on my forehead because clearly if I don’t have this calculator for class, I. will. fail. So I call my friend Kimberly (another overachiever who happens to be studying on campus) and she says, “oh, I have my pocketknife; you can come use it.”

aside: Dear innocent Jenna, don’t go. Just go to class and write your problems down with your pencil. You will pass the class without the calculator, and you will never use calculus again. Love, future Jenna who only uses math to calculate sale discounts

Now, this pink swiss army knife of doom looked innocent enough, but alas, it was secretly evil. I started sawing-away from my body mind you- and the plastic didn’t do anything. So I applied more force. As you may have already inferred, Math/not my thing, so it never actually occurred to me that if I added force, it would increase something else. Like the chances of me dying. So the knife cut and slipped through the plastic and into my thumb. It was surreal. I could see a huge gap in my hand, but it didn’t hurt. I thought, “I am going to be late for class. Sigghhhhhhhh” Then 2 seconds later, my blood was pouring everywhere. 5 stitches later, I had a half-opened calculator, my first absence in college, and wounded pride. I fought the pocketknife of doom, and it won. And it wasn’t even my enemy! The calculator was what I wanted to take down! So fast forward 4 years, and knives make me a little nervous. I try not to show it, because it’s kind of dramatic and weird, but today when I was cutting cantaloupe, I cut my finger, so for the next little bit I think I’m going to confine myself to sporks.

Moral of the story? AUM doesn’t clean their bathrooms daily. My thumb blood was in the hall for a week. ewwwwwwww.

Another secret, I’ve joined this endeavor, and it’s pretty cool. Lots of cool people with excessive amounts of talent. You should visit often.

Studypalooza?

I got distracted while using Spark Notes to distract me from my real studying. Here’s what I found:

Tips For Graduation.

Ways to make your pictures with family count…

And ways to make your tassel useful.

The whole slide show is hysterical. Or maybe I’m just overwhelmed and under rested. Either way, you can find it here.